Michael Ferentino, per Transfusion M, has achieved additional greatness with Slaughterhouse 25, an album in which his vocals, lyrics and melodies create a Vonnegut, Orwell, Huxley, McGoohan homage that reflects the schizoid side of the modern world.
The opening track epitomizes what's in store. "Slaugtherhouse 25" is a carny, merry-go-round cherry-topping for a dirty, dystopic cake. It's being forced to one's knees at midnight, only to emerge in the New World Order by dawn. In this sinister sector, "Big Brother's got you covered," since you're now part of a cool, conforming team: not bad if you're content being a cog in the timeless "Meat Machine."
And I must say, "Meat Machine" offers lots of strife. The fleshy spool is ragged and cruel, an aberration that renders one a cultural tool, deposited in a system that's suited for either despot or fool.
"The System" is a harsh region, packed of despair and constriction, a slower track that laments one's insecurity through the corridors of restriction. In this nasty niche, the meaning of words--the heart of perception--is misconstrued, demanding an interchanger (a shift back to something sincere), but change is never feasible when "sanity has taken the last train" to a country where ignoble zombies reign.
One yearns for validation, and with this, "Aristotle" comes to mind. It's a serenading stream about the titular legend (joined by Socrates and Plato), in which you drink the poison of truth to pull away the omniscient sky. However, as you identify your captors, you realize that one wants this, the other that, and yet another desires the entire pie, and from this builds your lifelong lie.
That's because you're a mere part of "The Human Experiment," which, after all the toil and tears, turns out a failure. It's a ramming, Neil Hefti rush that paints a bleak world, leaving you to burn like a witch, persecuted for no other reason than you're you.
To heal your blisters, you accept a "Sugar Slow Suicide," consuming the sweet, "candy cream and apple pie" nothingness, plucked from an ambrosia/jelly-roll menu that hints at an afterlife, or at least a base where pain doesn't resonate.
What's the point, though, when "There's No Tomorrow At All"? You're now a sitting duck, waiting for that final blow. The morose notes create a death march, swept by an cheerful strum, commemorating all the useless martyrs, along with their useless schemes.
And any scheme is but a "Fish with a Paper Asshole", the album's shortest track and perhaps its most sarcastic. It wiggles and jiggles as Ferentino raps of "a paper marionette," and isn't that what you've become for subscribing to the system?
"Miserable Window" is the album's heart-wrenching conclusion and its most profound portal. It captures loneliness, of staring at the wall, finding the courage to seek help, but getting none at all. It pulls from Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On", but in the placebo-bound nightmare, the muddled outcome grows clear. This Brave New World is anything but, thanks to its grave conviction. It's at best and most lined with vapid memes that form a major "shit show" for a "Mad Hatter society," designed for all the "dimwit assholes," and you are one, refusing to snuff the lights, allowing your mind to shift from left to right; and when the carnage ends, you're still at the start of the bend. It's no surprise, for as much as you screamed against the machine, you're the one who wrote it.
Slaughterhouse 25 recognizes the inalienable right to see beyond life's murky veil. It's sometimes rough and sometimes smooth, a diverse wake-up call for all who've shed their fight to be free.
Listen and identify at
https://orcd.co/transmsh25
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